


Making a List, Checking it Twice

by Rachiepoo



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: After Treasury Heist, Blow Jobs, Dom/sub Undertones, Getting Together, Halford's grumpy and these rogues aren't helping, Hung Mathias Shaw, Lace, Leather, Lingerie, M/M, Pining, Pre-Book: Shadows Rising - Madeleine Roux, Topping from the Bottom, World of Warcraft: Battle for Azeroth, corsets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:21:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28264566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rachiepoo/pseuds/Rachiepoo
Summary: Flynn has a list.  Five boxes he needs to check to find his ideal partner.  And Mathias Shaw checks every box.Well, except for one.
Relationships: Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw
Comments: 25
Kudos: 85





	Making a List, Checking it Twice

**Author's Note:**

> For Alex. Happy anniversary, love. 
> 
> Also thank you Originblue for beta-ing this mess. This was my first Fairshaw piece and with her help I felt like it was something worthy of posting. 
> 
> Any mistakes are my own. Enjoy! ❤

“I think I’m in love, Tae.” Flynn sighed wistfully as they stood overlooking the Boralus harbor. His eyes were trained on one ship, more particularly, on one man who stood near the bow of said ship. His auburn hair gleamed in the setting sun, a beacon as the sunlight began to fade. The city street lights began to flick on around them, but his eyes remained locked on the Spymaster.

“Yeah good luck with that,” she chuckled, knocking him playfully in the side. He finally turned his gaze upon her. “He’s too stuffy, Flynn. Always wearing that unbearably tight laced up armor-thing…”

“A corset,” Flynn swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

Taelia snorted, her eyes shining. “Oh, I get it now.”

He lifted his hands in surrender, “Stop while you’re ahead, Tae!” He looked frantically around the overlook but thankfully the crowds were sparse. He didn’t want anyone overhearing this particular part of the conversation.

She laughed, shaking her head. “You like that sort of thing. Corsets, satin, lace. You told me so yourself!”

“I told you that in confidence. Not for you to blast it across the harbor,” he sighed once more, crossing his arms. He looked back to the _Wind’s Redemption_ to watch as Mathias Shaw crossed over the boat and disappeared below deck. Probably to retire for the evening. Flynn frowned.

Taelia let him sit in silence for a few moments, before she leaned in, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I’m thirsty, are you thirsty?” She nodded towards the inn.

“Oh, all right. One round.” He rested his arm across her shoulders, as the pair walked towards Snug Harbor Inn.

🗹🗹🗹🗹🗹

He thinks it started sometime during his early childhood. He remembers diving into a blanket of satin sheets and being held tightly by his mother's arms. She always had nice things around the house, satin bed sheets, lacy tablecloths, dresses made of the finest silks. He never questioned it at the time, how they could afford such luxuries. All that mattered to him was the feel of the buttery smooth fabric against his cheeks. The lace underneath his fingertips. It always felt heavenly. And it reminded him of home.

As he grew older, silk served other purposes for him. A bandana during his Freehold days. A tie to hold back his long locks of hair. And then the lacy corset of the innkeeper's daughter as she led him upstairs to the room above the kitchens. That night was certainly a revelation for him.

It's no secret that Flynn has gotten around since then. People say he will bed anything that flirts back, but he knows his preferences. He knows his list. And Mathias Shaw checks every single box.

Well, except one.

First box, red hair. Check. He likes a spitfire red head as much as the next lad. They're more adventurous, more independent. They are fun, flirty, and ok--like himself. It's perfectly ok to like your own qualities, and prefer them in a partner. Nothing wrong there, mate. And Mathias Shaw is the definition of spitfire, oh by the tides is he!

Next box, lean and mean. He likes someone lean enough he can wrap his big burly arms around them completely. A partner he can pick up easier, throw on the bed easier, bend in half easier. But also mean, in that they don't just lie there like a dead fish. Someone who'll fight back, try to wrangle their positions. Get the upper hand.

He has pictured all of those scenarios involving the Spymaster. Some at ill advised times, like the Zandalari treasury or while Wyrmbane droned on about some mission. He wondered if Shaw would push him away or punch him if he pinned him against the wall of the _Wind’s Redemption_. He smiled.

"All right there, captain?" Mathias Shaw raised an eyebrow at him. Immediately the rest of the ship came back into focus.

Wyrmbane was glaring at him from under his shiny plate helmet. Flynn flushed. "Sure am. Now what time are we setting sail again?"

There was a huff of frustration, and the paladin turned his back on him without another word. Shaw chuckled next to him. "I'll see you at dawn. Be ready for me." He clapped Flynn on the shoulder and walked back to his little table a few feet away. Flynn watched him walk away, his mouth dry at the sight.

Flynn didn't know what he had to be ready for, but he was on deck for whatever Master Shaw threw his way.

Which brings up box number three. Leather.

Flynn never knew he had this sort of kink. But the moment he caught a glimpse of the Alliance Spymaster in the tightest pair of pants known to man, he started to reconsider. The leather was melded to his muscular thighs in the most obscene way. He could see every curve, every muscle. He knew which way the man tucks, for Tide Mother's sake. And on that end, the man certainly had plenty to offer. If he ever offered, that is. Shame to let a gift like that go to waste.

Either way, how can the rest of the crew function around that? Flynn had no idea. And as if that wasn't enough, he complimented such sinful legs with a corset on top. Which is box four.

Lingerie.

Ok so maybe his chest armor isn't a lady's under-garment, but it certainly looks like it. It certainly achieves the same effect. Shaw is laced so tight, he wondered how the man breathes. He wondered what it would be like to run his fingers through the silk chords, slowly unlacing and revealing more skin, inch by glorious inch. He'd open him like his most treasured Winter Veil present, kissing his way down his stomach. Pulling at the buckle of those damned pants, sinking to his knees--

"Is there anything else we can help you with, captain?" Shaw was at his table, arms crossed over his chest and raising that damn eyebrow again.

Flynn held his coat tight around himself, to conceal his uh, current predicament. He shook his head, “Nah, mate. About to get a pint. Want to get out of here?” It was worth a shot, but he knows there’s not a chance in hell Shaw would accept.

Shaw smirked, and it was so subtle and quick Flynn barely caught it. Then his face was serious once more, “I’ll see you in the morning, captain.”

He took the dismissal for what it was.

Flynn’s last box remains unchecked.

🗹🗹🗹🗹🗹

“I’m in trouble, Tae,” moaned Flynn, nursing his fourth drink.

She patted his arm in soothing circles. It felt nice. “What’d he do now?”

They were sitting at the bar of a hole in the wall place near Dampwick Ward. It was messy, the ale was cheap, and it was a short walk back to the _Middenwake._ Perfect nearly any night Flynn decided to go drinking. Which is every night, but who’s counting?

He groaned, leaning his head into the crook of his other arm. “I’m going on some mission with him again.”

“Oh,” she smiled, pushing her empty goblet towards the bartender. He silently gestured to get her another, and she shook her head. “Sounds like you haven’t done anything to warrant the trouble. You’ll be fine.”

He lifted his head, his face incredulous. “Have you seen him?” She giggled while he thrust his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Fucking perfect, Spymaster Shaw. Practically everything on my list, except that no-nonsense personality of his.” He lifted his tankard, finished his drink and thunked the goblet harshly against the bar’s surface. “He’s going to read my mind one of these days, and slit my throat right then and there.”

“List? You have a list?” Her eyes widened, surprised.

He shakes off her hand, standing shakily to his feet. He rummaged in his coat and pulled out the proper amount of gold. “Doesn’t matter, either way. I think at this point, I’d be more likely to lay with that Banshee Queen than him.” He dropped the coins on the bar, and pulled his coat across his shoulders.

“Have you tried telling him how you feel?” She asked, taking his arm and leading him back to his ship.

“Oh that’d go over well. Hi Master Shaw, I know our relationship has been strictly professional, but would you like to take this further? I’ve dreamed of getting on my knees and sucking you in front of the entire 7th Legion, if you’ll let me. Or if that’s not your speed, you can suck me. Or fuck me. Or I could fuck you. Frankly mate, anything involving you and myself in any capacity without clothes, I’m on board.” He laughed, stumbling over the plank as he boarded his ship.

“You don’t have to be so crass,” Taelia giggled, reaching into her satchel tied to her belt. She pulled out the ship’s cabin keys and handed them to Flynn.

Flynn saluted her in thanks. “Maybe crass, but at least I’m honest.”

She leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Good luck tomorrow. Don’t have the Spymaster kill you over that honesty.”

Flynn had nothing to worry about on that front. He wasn’t going to say a thing.

🗹🗹🗹🗹🗹

Morning passed in a sort of blur. He remained below deck, nursing his hangover, as the crew set sail for Zandalar. He had to go through 3 cups of coffee before he felt even somewhat normal again, and was finally able to come up to the deck. Mathias Shaw nodded at him in the afternoon sun. The man looked radiant, even as the wind picked up and blew his hair into his face. Flynn suppressed the urge to come closer, and run his fingers through those locks.

They made it to the island shortly and Shaw pulled him aside as the crew began rigging the ship in place. “This is supposed to be a stealth mission, Fairwind. In and out of the shrine with the artifact intact. No extra thievery, no traps activated. There is a troll settlement to the south of the island, and the capital city is not far off. We cannot fail this. Understand?”

“Oh don’t worry mate, we got this,” He chuckled, wrapping an arm around the Spymaster’s shoulders. He was promptly shoved aside, and Shaw had maneuvered in such a way that he was now walking down the plank and trekking into the jungle ahead. Flynn sighed, having no choice but to follow Shaw in his tight breeches, with his perfect arse. He supposed the view was nice.

An hour later, and things were going swimmingly. Quite literally. One room had rapidly begun to fill with water, and they were having to swim across to a higher chamber. The weight of Flynn’s coat wasn’t helping, and neither was the artifact clutched in Shaw’s right arm. The door they were approaching was closing, threatening to trap them within. Flynn wouldn’t let that happen. He had his sea legs after all, and found a burst of speed within himself. He was at the door a split second later, and he turned back and reached for Mathias’s hand, pulling him through just in time for the door to shut firmly behind them.

They stood, panting against the door. Flynn pressed against Mathias as his legs screamed at the burn in his muscles. They were completely soaked, and their clothes felt that much heavier once out of the water. He flung his ponytail out of his face, splattering them both with water droplets. “That went well,” laughed Flynn.

“Not over yet,” murmured Shaw. His eyes met Flynn’s, and by the tides, they were so green and intense at such a close proximity. Flynn hadn’t realized just how close they were standing, and now that his brain had caught up to the situation, he wanted to prolong this for as long as possible. He leaned in at the same moment Shaw sidestepped him. Flynn stumbled just before he crushed his face against the stone door.

“Oi,” Flynn called after him, turning around to follow him up the flight of stairs.

Shaw chuckled ahead of him. “Come on captain. Are you really going to let an old man like me beat you?”

Beat him? Is that what Mathias Shaw was into? He wondered, as he picked up the speed on this spontaneous race. “You’re not old, mate,” he panted, running after the Spymaster.

“Older than you,” he retorted, finishing the climb up this particular set of stairs. When Flynn reached him, he was leaning over and trying to catch his breath. Flynn couldn’t have stopped his staring even if he had tried. Because not only was this angle the perfect display of his arse to the captain’s gaze, but he’d just now realized Mathias Shaw had torn his pants, right across his backside.

It was a small tear, maybe only 2-3 inches long. It was subtle enough that he didn’t think anyone would notice unless they were looking. Which, well, Flynn was. It was right below the waist band, and normally would only reveal just a small amount of flesh. Innocent enough.

But this was far from innocent.

Because apparently, the Spymaster liked to wear undergarments beneath his leather pants. Lacy, black, undergarments. Fucking perfect. That would be a check, check, check, in box number four if there ever was one.

The effect of this particular knowledge had Flynn in a fit. He was immediately hard, his throat dry, and he had to bite back a moan that was threatening to spill out from his lips. Shaw turned, having heard the moan-not-moan reverberate in his throat. “Something the matter?” he asked, his voice concerned.

“Hole.” Flynn was at a loss for words beyond that. The Spymaster of the Alliance wears lace panties. The mere idea was madness. But brilliant all the same, because he would never in a million years have believed it to be true. A fantasy he’d maybe had on a night he’d had too much to drink. After all, it was not too hard to draw that imagery with the corset he insists on wearing on the daily. Black lace. He wondered if the man had other pairs, white lace, red lace, maybe even satin--

“Hole, where?” Mathias looked alarmed, looking around the walls and floors of the chamber they were currently standing in. He thought there must be a hole somewhere, threatening to trap them. Flynn wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“Your armor,” Flynn pointed to his legs.

Shaw began to pat himself down, it only took a few seconds before he found the spot upon his arse. “Oh,” he breathed.

“Yeah,” Flynn said. He didn’t really know what else to do at this point.

“Must have got caught when the door shut behind me,” frowned Mathias, a flush starting to blossom upon his cheeks.

“Must have,” Flynn repeated. He watched as the Spymaster’s blush darkened, and spread to his neck and ears. He looked lovely in his embarrassment, illuminated by the torches of the shrine.

“Did you see the…” he trailed off, awkward.

“Yeah…” Flynn responded, his voice wistful.

Mathias’s gaze traveled up from the floor, only to stop halfway at Flynn’s hardness, clearly visible in his own soaked pants. “Oh,” he said, his eyes fixated unabashedly on the other man’s length. He swallowed.

Flynn wanted to ask him what was on his mind. If he liked what he saw. If he could see everything that was hidden underneath. But he was still tongue tied, Shaw was still wearing lace undergarments. And if that wasn’t enough to prevent the words from coming, Mathias Shaw staring at his cock was right up there to disable any further attempts at speech.

“We should get going,” Shaw said, before clearing his throat. He was still looking at Flynn’s erection.

By the tides, this was bad.

Before he could react any further to this wonderful predicament, a loud grating sound was heard within the chamber. Poison darts shot out of the wall a moment later, and both rogues were maneuvering skillfully around each one. They made it to the end of the hall, Flynn’s eyes determined to look anywhere but in the vicinity of that tear in the Spymaster’s pants. There was another short climb of steps, tiled traps to avoid, and then they were racing outside of the shrine. They didn't stop their running, too fearful of being followed. It was only when the ship was in focus that they leaned against a tree to catch their breath.

It was only a minute before Mathias Shaw regained his strength, and pushed off the tree. Flynn couldn’t help his eyes automatically seeking the lace. “Wait,” he called out.

Shaw turned, his eyebrows raised once more. Flynn closed the distance between them, shucking his heavy coat off as he approached. He wrapped the coat around Mathias’s shoulders, and smiled seeing just how big the jacket was on the other man. It dragged to the middle of his thighs, and thus achieved the desired effect for their situation. He clutched the fur-lined lapels, needing something to hold onto to get the next words out. “As much as I appreciated seeing what you were wearing underneath your pants, I really don’t like the idea of the rest of my crew catching a glimpse. You can certainly take off the coat, if you disagree. But I figured you would prefer the modesty amongst them.”

His green eyes searched Flynn’s, intense. It was as if he was calculating the next move, and as a result Flynn’s heart beat that much faster. Seconds became a minute, before finally Mathias Shaw leaned the remaining inches between them and kissed Flynn’s cheek. “Thank you, captain,” he whispered in his ear. Flynn watched him leave, completely frozen in place. His cheeks burned, as he reached up to feel the skin where he’d been kissed.

Mathias Shaw kissed him.

He couldn’t help the way his face broke out into a ridiculously fond smile. The smile was firmly planted on his face the rest of the journey back to Boralus too. Neither the lack of wind, nor the rain could bring him down. Even the disappearance of the Spymaster below deck wasn’t enough to remove his smile. He couldn’t blame the lad for retreating to his rooms for the length of the journey. He wondered if the man had changed his armor, or if he was holed up writing reports all across his desk. Either way, they came to port in a remarkable amount of time. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as they were rigged into place. “We’re home!” He called the crew. The men and women spilled out along the pier and Flynn turned to go back into his cabin.

The Spymaster appeared on deck, nearly running into Flynn before he could. “Oh,” He said upon seeing the other man. Because, no, Shaw had not changed his armor. In fact, he was still wearing Flynn’s coat. Flynn was seriously considering revising his list, because the image of Mathias Shaw in his coat was doing things to Flynn.

Shaw cleared his throat, his cheeks turning slightly pink. “I have to give my report and the artifact to Wyrmbane.”

“Aye,” Flynn agreed. Because what else was there to say really? The whole point of this excursion was this mission--and the job’s not done yet. He tipped his hat in acknowledgement, and was about to dismiss him, when Shaw interrupted.

“How about that pint, after this?”

“What?” Flynn blinked at the other man in confusion.

Shaw laughed, shaking his head. Flynn couldn’t recall ever having heard the other man laugh, and the sound was like music to his ears. His stomach lurched excitedly. “It’s only just yesterday, you talked about getting a pint with me. It was the middle of the day, Fairwind. I was on duty,” he chuckled once more. “Plus Wyrmbane would have had an absolute fit if I just abandoned post to go out drinking with you.”

“Oh,” he smiled. That fond smile had returned once more, and he was helpless to control it. Especially around the Spymaster. In his coat. Wearing lace undergarments. And tight leather pants.

By the tides, this day had been spectacular.

“So what do you say?” Mathias returned his smile. He looked playful, and perfect. And dare Flynn say it? But the man was dangerously close to marking that last box after all.

“Sure, mate,” he clapped Mathias on the shoulder. “I was planning on just drinking in my cabin tonight though. The trip’s worn me out, and I think I’d much prefer a quiet night in.”

“I can work with that.” Master Shaw’s smile widened, his gaze sharp.

Flynn gulped, his throat dry once more. He was in so much trouble. He watched helplessly as the enigma that is Mathias Shaw walked off the boat, and turned the corner. As soon as he was out of sight, Flynn bolted for his cabin. He opened the port holes, lit an array of candles, and gathered up all the laundry. He kicked the door open, his arms laden with dirty linens that he was preparing to drop below deck in the crew's quarters. “Need any help with that?” called Taelia, standing on the plank before his ship.

“Tae!” He cried, motioning frantically to the other door. She hurried over and opened it for him, so he could toss it into the main hall. After his hands were empty, he shut the door behind them and made his way back to the captain’s cabin. He still had so much to do. Taelia followed, her brows furrowed.

“What’s gotten into you?” She asked, watching him pull out a cleaning solvent from one of his cabinets and proceed to brush thoroughly at the table.

“The Spymaster,” she could make out. He was mumbling about boxes, counting from one to five, as he put his entire weight behind scrubbing the table. When it was finally clean, he wiped at his brow and went over to the bed. He straightened out the sheets, fluffed the pillows. He was only there for a few seconds at most, before he was back at his cabinets. Putting away the cleaning solution and pulling out the whiskey, he poured himself a shot, drinking it like it was nothing. But then he shuddered as he pulled out a second glass.

“None for me, thanks,” she said.

“It’s for Master Shaw,” he hesitated to pour anything in that glass. He put the cap back on the bottle. He wasn’t sure what the man liked, actually. He turned back to the cabinet, pulled out some rum, a few bottles of ale, and a bottle of wine. His hands were beginning to sweat. Any minute now, that man was going to return and Flynn hadn’t the faintest idea what to do about it.

“I see.” She looked around the cabin, making sure Flynn hadn't missed anything. “Looks nice,” she tried to reassure him.

“No offense intended, Taelia, but he should be returning at any moment. And I’d prefer if you weren’t here when he arrives.”

She snorted, shaking her head. “See ya later, Flynn. And good luck,” she clapped him on the shoulder. Sure enough, as she opened the cabin door, Shaw was standing on deck, his hand raised as if to knock. “He’s all yours,” she winked at Shaw as she passed.

Flynn had terrible friends. Absolutely terrible.

Shaw hid a smirk underneath his mustache, before he turned to Flynn once more. The captain stepped back to allow the Spymaster inside. He shut the door behind them, as Mathias approached the countertop filled with various bottles of liquor. His fingers were trailing a few bottles, turning around to read certain labels. “There’s a lot here, for only one drink,” he observed.

“I didn’t know what you would like.”

Mathias hummed, pulling the bottle of whiskey up to his face. He uncapped it, and took a whiff. His eyes were closed as he said, “I guess I have been mysterious on that front.”

“Yeah,” Flynn responded. His eyes were trained on the Spymaster’s hands. He turned the bottle over and poured himself a nice helping in his empty glass.

“Another one for you?” Shaw asked, raising an eyebrow at the other man as he held Flynn’s glass.

“How did you…”

“I can smell it on your breath,” He said, his eyes intense and now focused on Flynn’s mouth. Flynn swallowed, nodding. The Spymaster poured him another and passed the glass to him. They drank in silence.

Flynn was transfixed as he watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed the drink down. He noticed a slight shadow upon the other man’s face and throat, the day’s stubble making itself known. Flynn desperately wanted to run his fingers over it. Maybe lean in, press his lips to the rough skin. He wondered how that would feel, how it would taste.

There was a clunking sound, as Shaw emptied his drink and set it back on the countertop. He slipped his arms out from the coat he was wearing and handed it back to Flynn. Flynn couldn’t control the frown upon his face, as the other man walked to the door. He had to do something, anything, to keep Mathias Shaw from leaving just yet.

“Wait,” he said. Right at the exact moment Shaw reached the door and locked the door firmly in place.

The bolt made a satisfying click, and the Spymaster turned, smirking. “Now where were we?” Before Flynn could even comprehend what was happening, the Spymaster advanced. One minute he was by the door, the next by Flynn’s side, pulling the glass from his fingers and pressing him up against the cabinet. “I never did thank you for saving me back there...in the shrine.”

“Don’t mention it, m-mate,” he stuttered. Because Shaw was now standing in front of him, sliding his tight, leather clad thigh right in between Flynn’s legs. Momentarily he forgot how to breathe.

“I’ve heard plenty of information about you, Captain Fairwind,” he leaned close, his eyes burning. “How you’re a scoundrel. How you’ll bed anything that tickles your fancy. How you’ll go from one lass to the next, flirting unabashedly at anyone that walks by. I have agents still looking into your past relationship with Miss Fordragon. For security reasons, of course…”

“She’s a friend,” he gasped out. Mathias had pressed his knee dangerously close, and Flynn was helpless to the response his body was making from the pressure.

“Share your bed with a lot of friends?” Eyebrow raised, he leaned over, pressing his chest to Flynn’s. But he had another motive. He brought Flynn's glass to his lips, taking the last shot. “Let’s make one thing clear, captain. I will not be another notch on your bedpost. I won’t be the subject of your latest conquests. I’m the leader of SI:7, not some barmaid you can just take upstairs whenever it suits your fancy. If you want this, as much as I think you do…” He looked down, sucking his bottom lip briefly. Flynn knew what he must see. He was harder than he’d ever been, his pants stretched tight to the point that it was bordering on painful.

“Yes, I want you,” he groaned.

“Then we’ll do this on my terms,” Mathias dropped the glass onto the table before grabbing the front of Flynn’s shirt and gripping hard. “Nothing in public. I’m a professional. I represent not only SI:7 but also the alliance, and the crown. You threaten any of them, I will not hesitate to eliminate you.”

“Blimey mate,” Flynn cursed.

Mathias’s grip tightened. Flynn choked, as the collar of his shirt restricted him. “I’m not finished.”

Flynn nodded, urging him to continue. He wisely didn’t say anything else in response.

“I don’t share.” His green eyes narrowed. “If you want in this, it’s entirely with me or nothing at all. I will not be cast aside, something you seek as an added bonus. I expect complete loyalty, just as I would for any agent that serves under me. Failure to do so will result in immediate lethal consequences. Do I make myself clear, captain?”

“Yes,” he gasped out, as the other man finally released his grip on his shirt.

Shaw smirked, taking a step back and removing his leg from in between Flynn’s. He crossed his arms, the leather squeaking as his forearms slid together. “Good. On your knees then.”

Flynn dropped immediately. It was almost exactly like his latest fantasy of the Spymaster. He bit his tongue. It stung. Definitely not dreaming, then.

The Spymaster crooked a finger, signalling Flynn silently. He shuffled across the floorboards to stop right before him. His hands remained by his side, waiting for the next command. “Hmmm, not bad, captain,” Shaw praised. Flynn had no choice but to watch as the Spymaster deftly worked the front of his trousers, unbuckling the belt and pulling it through the loops effortlessly. It made a loud thump as he tossed it over his shoulder. “You can pull the rest off, if you like…”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He gripped Shaw’s pants and tugged them down to his ankles. This left Mathias Shaw standing in his cabin, the lace undergarments on full display for Flynn. His mouth watered as he was finally able to see the full extent of what was underneath. His legs were completely toned, at the peak of physical endurance. He idly wondered just how many men Shaw had killed simply by crushing them within his leg muscles. There were scattered scars up his thighs, which didn’t deter Flynn in the slightest. Instead he found it oddly intriguing. And he hoped he would have the opportunity to trace a few with his tongue. If the man would let him.

And then there was his cock. Flynn knew the man was well endowed, but to actually be faced with it is another thing altogether. The lace was barely holding him together, to be quite honest. The tip had since escaped over the top of the panties, leaking and flushed red.

“Suck me,” Mathias demanded, as if reading Flynn’s mind.

He groaned, pressing his face unabashedly to Shaw’s crotch. Flynn closed his eyes, nuzzling against the lace. It was soft to the touch, perfect. He parted his lips, darting his tongue out to trail along the length of Shaw through the fabric. He could feel his erection throb, the only reaction the other man had given him.

That simply wouldn’t do.

He redoubled his efforts, yanking the lace down. Mathias’s cock sprung free, hitting Flynn across his jaw. He grabbed a hold of the base, holding him steady. Mathias hissed above him. Flynn began to pump in small circles, which resulted in the Spymaster running his fingers through Flynn's hair, tugging.

That was a little bit better. But still not quite enough.

Flynn closed that last amount of space, opening wide to take the full head in his mouth. By the tides, he was delicious. He couldn’t help but lick every inch that was dripping with his pre-release. Shaw shuddered above him, causing Flynn to reach up and wrap an arm around the man’s waist, holding him in place. He sucked more of Mathias in, his throat straining to accommodate the girth. He groaned, at the same moment he heard Shaw curse, “By the fucking light!”

That was better. Perfect.

Of course he was. Flynn didn’t expect anything less. He opened his eyes, tilting his head back to get a good look at the Spymaster above him. Their eyes met, and Flynn’s own erection throbbed at the sight. Mathias’s entire face was flushed, his lips swollen where he’d clearly bitten them. His mouth was open, as he was panting. The corset around his middle probably wasn’t helping on that end, Flynn reflected. His other hand moved from Shaw’s cock to start to tug at the laces, fumbling with the knot keeping it all together. Flynn considered himself a skilled man in the art of undressing but then again, he’d never had the challenge of a shaking Spymaster in his arms, choking him with his thick, glorious cock, while he attempted the feat. Regretfully, he pulled off, bringing his other hand to join the other in untying the lace. “Let me help you, love,” he croaked.

And then Flynn’s whole face blushed, as he realized what he just called the Spymaster. He froze, his hands at the corset. He’d ruined it, he knew he had. Flynn didn’t make a habit of going around dropping pet names on the first sexual encounter--he knew better than that. But then the Spymaster had never been like any of the others. Flynn had never met another person as perfect as him. A man that’s checked all the boxes. Yes, perhaps even that last box…

“Come here, Flynn,” Mathias asked, tugging him by the back of his shirt. He used his first name. Not just captain. Or Captain Fairwind. Or Flynn Fairwind. Just Flynn.

Flynn stood, his knees creaking. Mathias’s eyes searched his, as if trying to figure out some complex puzzle, but then he smiled, his hands slid from the back of Flynn’s shirt, to cup his jaw in between both hands. They both leaned forward at the same time, their lips meeting in a sweet, yet hesitant kiss. A kiss that started out nervous at first, but gradually got better the more they continued.

Mathias slipped his tongue between Flynn’s lips, deepening the kiss and any amount of hesitation was gone. His hands were everywhere, unbuttoning Flynn’s shirt, his pants, pulling at the ponytail at the base of his neck, and making his hair come loose in a curtain around them. He yanked the material across his back, the shirt dropping to the floor and gathering in a pile with the coat. Mathias stepped completely out of his own pants, adding it to the pile. Flynn attempted to follow suit, only to be stopped by a firm grip from the Spymaster, holding his hands in place. “I got it,” he said in between kisses.

Skillful hands made quick work of his pants and underclothes, all the while his tongue made an unrelenting assault upon Flynn’s mouth. His knees buckled, and he was trying with all his might to stay standing. He could hear the Spymaster chuckle against his mouth, a hand reaching out to grip him playfully between the legs. “Oh,” he gasped, an immediate and embarrassing reaction if he had half a second to think about it. Mathias didn't give him the time.

“Get on the bed.”

He backed up, kicking his boots off as he went. The edge of the bed hit his legs a moment later, and Flynn fell back. Only a second went by as he moved to the middle, and then Shaw was on him. The older man straddled him, his lace underclothes straining with the stretch. Flynn marveled at how he managed to be completely stripped bare, and yet Mathias Shaw was still wearing the majority of his clothes. He reached up to resume untying the corset. He saw Shaw exhale in relief, as the first few threads came undone.

“I want to sit on your cock,” moaned Shaw, arching his back.

“Fucking tides, mate,” cursed Flynn, as his fingers fumbled upon the laces. He felt his cock leak, not for the first time since they began. He was afraid he wasn’t going to last long at this rate.

There was a devious smirk underneath that alluring red mustache. Shaw lifted his hand and spat into his palm. The action was obscene. Lewd. Then he was bringing his hand down on Flynn, wrapping his fingers around his erection and tugging. Flynn bucked off the bed, hissing. Mathias’s smirk widened.

“Is that good for you?” He asked, his fingers so skilled that Flynn was afraid he was going to burst at any moment.

“Yes, yes, good. So good,” Flynn chanted, mindless.

The fingers were removed. Flynn groaned immediately at their loss, but then the Spymaster leaned forward, one hand bracing himself as the other reached behind, pulling aside the lace. Flynn was in shock, feeling his cock catch on Shaw’s rim. “Wait...don’t we need to…”

Shaw sank down.

“Oh fuuuuck,” groaned Flynn, his fingers gripping Shaw’s thighs to hang on to something, anything. Mathias Shaw’s back was bowed, a low groaning sound coming through his lips. How, Flynn didn’t know. The man’s teeth were sharp, pulling on his own lip and biting down hard. Fuck, he hoped he hadn’t hurt him.

They stayed blessedly still for a few minutes. Flynn was ever thankful, because he was rapidly losing control, buried in the tight heat of the Spymaster. Fuck. He was inside Mathias Shaw. That thought alone was about to make him come.

After enough time had passed, Shaw lifted himself and slid down once more. They hissed in unison. It felt good--too good. How was the man so...wet? His brows furrowed in confusion, trying to make sense of any of it.

“How...how are you so…” He didn’t know how to phrase it exactly, but the man was certainly more ready than Flynn would have believed with just a handful of spit upon his cock. He knew the difference between a lady and a man, and he knew men typically need a little more preparation than that.

“You do recall I was below deck for most of the return journey?” Mathias groaned once more. He shifted his hips sinuously, as he reached for his chest armor. The fabric, having been trapped underneath the corset, came loose now that it had unlaced a little. He pulled the shirt over his head, tossing it off the side of the bed. Flynn stared at the exposed flesh, his eyes zeroing in on the man’s nipples. He reached up, taking one bud between his fingers and pinching. Shaw cursed, pressing further down and taking him deeper.

“So while you were above deck, captaining your ship, taking us all home...I was taking myself in hand. Opening myself up. Thinking of you. Your hard cock that I got a glimpse of in the shrine. Wondering what would have happened if I’d have grabbed you then. Got on my knees for you in that damned temple…”

“I’m...I’m going to come,” Flynn whimpered. It was too much. He groaned, sucking his lower lip in his mouth as he felt the pleasure shoot from the base of his spine and out the tip of his cock. Mathias rode him through it, an unrelenting force that seemed to milk him for everything he had. Flynn had to push him off, when it was simply too much.

He only gave himself a moment of laying in the afterglow. He could still see how engorged the Spymaster’s cock was, and he wouldn’t let the man leave unsatisfied. “Hop up,” he patted his chest in an invitation. Shaw slid forward, his face questioning. Flynn slid his hands up thighs, caressing the smooth silken corset, flicking the other nipple playfully. “I want you to fuck my mouth, Master Shaw. Give me all you’ve got.”

He crawled forward, one hand wrapping around to grip the back of Flynn’s head to keep him in place. His other hand gripped the base of his cock as he placed it to the captain’s lips. Flynn slipped his tongue around the tip, teasing and inviting. He could feel the man’s thighs clench around him, as he pushed further, slipping all the way inside.

Flynn tried to relax his throat, he really did. His nostrils were flaring, as he suppressed the urge to gag. Mathias’s thrusts continued, faster, uncoordinated. He was panting once more, as he brought both hands to tug Flynn’s hair. It served as a sort of anchor, for him to get a better grip, a deeper angle. “Fuck, Flynn,” he whined. He was close.

Fingers came up to trace teasing circles across the Spymaster’s lace clad arse. He reached blindly behind the man, pulling the fabric down. Flynn moaned around Shaw’s cock, as he found his rim once more. He sank a finger inside, with absolutely no resistance from the cum still leaking out. He was twisting that finger, trying to find that bundle of nerves. Mathias was bucking his hips now, chanting about the Light or something. Flynn’s jaw ached, but that was the least of his concern. He’d finally managed to dig deeper, tap against a spot inside Shaw that had him keeling forward, shooting his release down Flynn’s throat.

He licked him clean, a smile coming unbidden to his lips. Mathias Shaw slumped back, out of breath and completely wrecked. He lifted a shaking hand to his face, brushing his auburn hair off his sweating brow. “Passable work, Fairwind,” he laughed.

Flynn smacked him playfully against the thigh, before yanking the man on top of him once more. They rolled around the bed, laughing and kissing what skin they could. Flynn managed to wrangle their positions, looming over Mathias. “Right...well, next time I’m on top.”

“I look forward to it,” Shaw winked.

🗹🗹🗹🗹🗹

Flynn had five boxes for his ideal partner. A spitfire redhead, a lean physique, leather, lace. The last box, the personality box, was probably the most challenging box of all for him to check off. At first, Flynn simply accepted the truth that boring old Mathias Shaw could never meet the requirements of said box. The man was too serious, too into his job to have a spot of fun now and then.

But a night in his cabin had Flynn reconsidering things. When the next morning came, Shaw had since left well before dawn. The captain frowned, knowing this would be the case, though he would be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed. He would have loved a morning in with his new Spymaster lover. He knew his duties came first--Flynn understood. Disappointing, but he got it. They would have another time, whenever that would be.

Either way, he went through the motions of getting ready. He was due to meet the grumpy paladin Wyrmbane at any moment. He pulled on fresh clothes, and went to the mirror. He had that thoroughly shagged look, his hair in ruins. He grinned, leaning his head to the left to admire his morning’s stubble. A red bruise upon his neck caught his eyes and his grin widened. He debated wearing his hair down to better conceal the mark, but he laughed almost as soon as that thought crossed his mind. He pulled his hair up, hoping he’d get a good look at Mathias when he saw just what he'd done to him.

He whistled as he made the walk to the _Wind’s Redemption_. Even though it was an awfully early hour to rise, nothing could bring him down today. There was a spring in his step, and he greeted the dock workers cheerily as he passed. He hummed as he boarded the ship, resisting with all his might the glance he wanted to give Shaw. He made his way immediately to the High Commander. “Reporting for duty, sir.” He saluted the man in an overly dramatic fashion.

“By all that is holy, what is _that?”_

Flynn bit his lip hard, to keep from laughing. He reached a hand up to his neck, at the same time Wyrmbane looked down to his coat pocket in horror. Flynn’s brows furrowed, as he looked down. The lace panties were sticking out of his front pocket, and he pulled them out without thinking. “Oh,” he blushed. _Do not look at Mathias_ , he repeated over in his mind. _Do not look at him._

“Oh, those are mine,” Mathias Shaw stepped forward, taking the undergarments from Flynn’s fingers.

Flynn sputtered next to him. Kelsey Steelspark had been having her coffee, but now the coffee had her. It spilled down her front, cup frozen to her lips. Shandris looked over her shoulder from her post, and she simply rolled her eyes, returning to looking out across the harbor. Halford’s face had since gone completely crimson underneath his helm. “Spymaster Shaw!” He shouted, appalled. “This is not a joking manner,” he glared.

“Oh relax,” he shrugged the other man off. “The captain is here, on time and ready for his next assignment. Why worry about what he does in his free time? You weren’t on duty during these...transgressions, were you captain?” He turned to Flynn, his arms crossed. It was the first time their eyes had met since last night.

Flynn tried really hard not to break out into a goofy grin. He thought he was only half successful. “Uh...no. I wasn’t currently on duty during these...ah, transgressions as you so call it.”

Mathias gave him a secret smile, just for him. “Well there you have it, commander. I don’t think he meant any harm by this,” he twirled the lace in his fingers, before pocketing the garment. Halford huffed in aggravation, as Shaw turned around to make his way back to his post. “But honestly, captain. I’d maybe have a healer look at that neck of yours, looks to be a nasty bruise you got there…”

Flynn couldn’t hold it in anymore. He laughed, clutching his side. Mathias lifted his coffee mug in a silent toast, winking.

Box number 5: check.


End file.
